


Not Yours

by Roxicodone



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Cloti - Freeform, F/M, First Time, Smut, Train Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1533278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roxicodone/pseuds/Roxicodone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cloti smut with a dash of romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jaimerose](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jaimerose).



Tifa stepped calmly onto the train behind Barret, willing her pounding heart to slow and tried to remain inconspicuous as she searched for room to sit or stand. Moving slow, she slid past passengers until she found a spot by a window, propped her shoulder against the glass and let the vibrations of the train strum through her.

That had been close, too damn close.

They’d barely escaped their assault against Shin-Ra this time, Jessie having gotten tangled in some sort of wiring and Barret having to cover as Cloud had gone back for her. With the Reactor set to explode in less than half a minute's time, Tifa had been damn frantic, too far to do anything more than fling rocks at Shin-Ra guards. To say she’d been frustrated was an understatement.

When Cloud had finally gotten Jessie free, the four of them had hauled ass back to the train station as fire had erupted behind them. Debris and rubbish flying, they’d merely slipped into the first departing car and ignored the ruckus.

“Ain’t no gettin’ offa this train we’re on,” Barret muttered as he stalked past, disappearing into the niche between cars. Through the dirty glass, Tifa watched as he slipped a flask from his pocket, swilled.

He’d thought to bring along liquor? As they’d gone to plant an explosive? What on Gaia had he been thinking? Frowning, she made a mental note to admonish him later.

As the train began to move, she turned to search for Cloud and Jessie, hoping they were both fine. She’d only heard as they’d boarded behind her and needed to make sure they were all right with her own eyes.

Lights shuffled, first red then blue then yellow, and through the changing shades she caught a glimpse of spiky, golden hair making its way through the crowd, followed closely by coppery strands. Moments later, Cloud appeared—with Jessie clinging tightly to the back of his sweater.

The intimate gesture had something green and unkind snaking into Tifa’s gut and she stiffened, meeting Jessie’s eyes. Brown blinked at her, part shame, part exultant, part challenge and Tifa felt her brows draw together.

_What_ the _fuck…?_

Mako and cobalt suddenly filled her vision, interrupting, and she forced her focus to shift.

Cloud turned his chin to speak to Jessie behind him. “I’m here,” he told her flatly. His gaze stayed locked on Tifa. “You said you’d let go.”

In the blending light, Tifa caught a wash of pink in the red-head’s features. “Right,” Jessie mumbled. Seconds later, she turned and headed away.

That was…peculiar.

Before Tifa could say a word, the train jerked, jarring her, and she stumbled. Gloved hands reached forward and gripped her hips, steadying.

“Careful,” Cloud murmured, his breath whispering across her cheeks. Using his palms to guide her, he maneuvered until her back was pressed to the window, tucking her form between his warmth and the cool glass. Only the barest of spaces separated their bodies. “You all right?”

Goddess but he smelled good, heat and male and something so distinctly Cloud. She stifled a shiver and nodded in response, knowing he meant more than just her stumble on the train.

How long had it been since she’d found him? Months, at least. Months since she’d discovered him at the train depot, weeks since she’d asked him to stay and join AVALANCHE—and yet he was as big a mystery to her as when she’d first brought him to 7th.

It both frustrated and exhilarated her.

Frustrated because he seemed to know exactly what she wanted from him—and yet only gave her enough to keep her confused and chasing. Exhilarated because he also knew exactly how much to take in return—and the sway of it all kept her deftly unbalanced.

In their cramped space at 7th, he’d even started sharing her bedroom—though calling the small space a bedroom was a stretch.

Barret, prone to nightmares, had more often than not woken Cloud while they’d slept in AVALANCHE’s headquarters. A light sleeper herself, she’d offered to share the only private space in the building with Cloud after catching him asleep in the bar most nights. He’d dragged his cot over the next evening, rearranging so that her bed was between the wall and himself and she had to crawl over his bed to get to her own every night.

He’d kissed her for the first time that evening, gloved hands gently, so gently, cupping her face while he’d leaned down. His mouth had been tentative and shy, uncertain—and she’d melted for him. Gods, but she’d melted for him. It had been Cloud kissing her! How could she ever not melt? Her heart had seized tight and her knees had dissolved and he’d rumbled a laugh as he’d caught her boneless, dragged her against him.

Fire and heat and desire. Tifa felt her breaths quicken as she remembered his kiss—his kisses.

He’d become much more physical with her also, both in public and private. Hesitant, the first few nights he’d moved in, she’d purposefully left the door ajar, unsure of what her teammates might think or even what she was thinking. It hadn’t done much to deter him; she’d woken with him sharing her bed, lying snug against her with his limbs innocently tucked at his side. She’d turned ten shades of red to find herself wrapped around him, leg over his hip and arms around his chest and lips to his jaw.

A week later, that had changed. He’d toed the door shut and turned to look at her, cobalt carefully masked. The room was hot, he’d told her, and he wanted to sleep with the window open—and barechested. When he’d taken off his shirt and uncovered his strong, solid, sculpted chest, she’d wiped the drool off her chin, eagerly nodded.

Who was she to protest if he was, er, hot? Because he was. Gods, he was.

She’d gladly nestled beside him that night, and he’d tucked her against him, tangling his hands in her hair and nuzzling her throat.

Outside of the bedroom, he’d taken to sitting too close. He was always either right alongside her on the lone sofa or would push their chairs together, sitting so near knees and elbows touched. He’d stand too close too, as much as he was now and especially during train rides. He’d bracket her between his arms, hands braced on either side of her shoulders and surround her with his body and scent and strength.

But not tonight. Tonight he seemed content to keep his hands on her hips, firm and absolute.

Not that he hadn’t done that before, gripped her hips just so.

During 7th's open hours, he’d started to linger behind the bar with her as she’d mixed drinks and drafted beers. She’d been surprised at first, then worried that she’d step all over him but he was never in her way, somehow knowing the rhythm of which she moved and adjusting appropriately. And whenever she happened to be standing in a space in front of him, he’d slide those gloved hands over the leather of her skirt and flex his fingers.

She’d frozen the first time it had happened, breaths trembling and shivers traveling her spine. When he’d begun adding his body to his possessive holds, tugging or pushing or stepping so they were back to chest and hip to hip, she’d find herself gripping the bartop and locking her knees so as not to melt into a puddle at his feet.

He’d taken to frequently go bare handed around her too, gloveless. Then, when he reached for her, he’d let his hands drift.

She’d feel warm fingers stroking her ribs and waist, shiver when his thumb snaked under the hem of her shirt and tease lightly, oh so lightly, the undersides of her breasts. On a night not too long ago while only a lone patron was in the bar, he’d trailed his hands down, down, down to her thighs, then up, up, up, beneath her skirt. The leather had bunched at the base of her hips. Pressed to her back, he’d slid hot palms forward, fingers inward, until his thumbs had grazed her panties.

“Shh,” he’d rumbled into her ear and stroked one deft finger along the seam of cotton—before releasing her.

When she’d finally drifted back from wherever he’d sent her, it had taken her more than a few moments to realize she’d been panting. Loudly. Blushing furiously, she’d beat a hasty retreat.

In bed that night, he’d kissed her mindless and tugged her pajama bottoms free, tossing them in the trash. She’d fallen asleep with his hands curled under her panties along her backside.

Just that morning, she’d wakened to him nuzzling her and sliding his hands beneath her top. He’d rolled her beneath him, settled his hips between her thighs and used his thumbs to stroke circles about her ribs. Slowly, teasingly, while she’d run her hands through the silky the strands of his hair, he’d widened his pattern until he’d found the underside of her breasts, widened until his palms had cupped the heavy weight of them, widened until they'd stroked over her nipples and hardened them into pebbles.

She’d gasped, curved her ankles around his thighs, and rolled her hips as he’d ground into her.

“Tifa,” he’d groaned, pressed himself hard and ready against her.

When Barret had hammered on their door seconds later, roaring about needing to prep for the day’s events, Tifa hadn’t known whether to be grateful or disappointed.

Glowing blue had lifted, glared black death at the door and she’d giggled instead.

“Later,” he’d growled, nipping at her bottom lip until she was gripping his hair, attempting to still him for a kiss. He’d resisted, run his tongue once, twice over her waiting mouth and drawn away.

Disappointed. She’d definitely been disappointed.

Remembering now in the shadowy confines of a noisy, packed train, Tifa felt her nipples pucker.

Damn that man.

She swallowed, drawn back to the present, and caught sight of Jessie’s red ponytail as it drifted through the crowd. She frowned.

Glancing at Cloud beneath her lashes, she asked, “What was that all about?”

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her question. “I told her I was going to look for you,” he replied, voice a rumble over the din of train and voices. “She said she didn’t want to lose us in the crowd and would follow until I found you.” A broad shoulder lifted in a shrug.

And so Jessie had latched on, wanting to be close to Cloud, finding the barest of reasons to touch him.

Tifa didn’t blame her. Cloud was, well, _Cloud._

Still, what the hell had Jessie been thinking, giving Tifa such a defiant stare? Had she wanted to test Tifa? Contest her claim?

Feeling her hackles rising, Tifa curved her hands around Cloud’s bare upper arms, gripping the muscle there. She pushed her shoulders back, the motion lifting her chest and tilting her hips and pressed herself firmly, deliberately, against Mako and power.

Cobalt returned to her, a question in those glowing depths. “Cloud,” she sighed.

He canted his head curiously, but didn’t turn away. “Tifa,” he replied, squeezing her hips.

She wet her lips and tightened her fingers, urging him closer. “Cloud,” she sighed again, brushed the tips of her breasts against his chest.

He blinked once, considering, then with a swift, silent move, she found herself firmly against glass and hard, ready male.

“Tifa,” he breathed, mouth to her ear. His hands moved, leather slipping to curve around her thighs and he folded the hem of her skirt up once, twice. His movements remained hidden in the darkness of blurring red, blue, yellow. “Don’t tease.”

Knees shaking, she shook her head, let her tongue taste the sweat and warmth of his throat. “No.”

His hands left her abruptly, startling her, and she gasped at being suddenly free. What—what was going on? Had she been too needy, too aggressive? Before she could ask, his strong hands returned.

And they were bare and urgent as they touched her.

She turned her face into his shoulder, hiding her eyes and felt a palm cup her bottom. Fingers curved between her legs, testing, seeking, and her feet shifted automatically for him. He praised her with a murmur, slid a digit over fabric. Shivering, she bit his neck.

The train swayed, picked up speed and the mass of people around drifted. Black, red, blue, yellow swirled.

Tifa held her breath as she felt Cloud sweep cotton to the side, trembled when he parted her nether lips and flicked her hidden nub. She whimpered, body quaking, and he flicked again before pushing hard. Her involuntary moan was drowned out by the roar of steel on steel.

He pressed again and again, teasing and rubbing and drenching his fingers. Oh, Shiva, those clever, clever fingers. She held onto him tight, wished his pauldron away so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders properly. Her legs were giving out and she needed something to hold onto and gods, don’t stop don’t stop _don’t stop_.

He rolled his hips, rubbing the length of him against her thigh, and glided a finger to her entrance. Gently, he probed. His breath hissed as his searching digit slid easily into her warmth.

“Fuck,” he growled, pumping his hand slowly, in and out, in and out.

“Yes,” she agreed, pressing desperate kisses to his throat, shoulder, jaw, anywhere she could reach.

He stopped suddenly, leaving her aching and wanting and unsatisfied, and withdrew himself completely. He tugged her skirt back into place and straightened, eyes darting.

Confused and aroused, Tifa looked at him with blurry, worried eyes. Had she—had she done something wrong?

Cobalt softened when they returned to her, and his mouth found hers, kissing gently, tenderly. “No,” he told her, answering her unvoiced question. “Never. Not ever.” He wrapped his hand around hers, lacing their fingers. “C’mon,” he urged and began to move into the crowd.

Disorientated, she followed, willing her senses to return. Strangers warily sidestepped them as Cloud and his giant sword behind him led the way. Dimly, she glimpsed red-hair before she realized he’d stepped into the tiny bathroom.

Cloud pulled her close, reached behind her and locked the door. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, collarbone. “Better,” he told her, ran his hands down the length of her. “Much better,” he added as he cupped her breasts and his lips found hers once more.

He tasted like perfection, like everything she’d ever wanted and needed and hot, biting electricity.  His tongue slipped between her lips, seeking and she opened for him, sucking. A groan vibrated their fused mouths, whether his or hers or both, and he lifted fabric until her breasts were bare. Sword callused fingers found her nipples, rolled them.

“Cloud!” she gasped, hands in his hair. Oh, Shiva, his touch felt good. Tiny shocks traveled through her and she shivered, aching. She fumbled to unbuckle his too many snaps and clips until his pauldron and harness crashed to the floor and, mind foggy, she worried aloud, “Where’s your sword?”

He drew his lips away, lowered and nuzzled her swollen breasts. “Right here.” His voice was dark and muffled as he shackled her wrist and guided her hand to his groin. A wet tongue laved her nipples.

As pleasure shot through her and her moan echoed, she learned the length of him through cloth and thought, oh yes, right here.

It was hard to focus, hard to do anything but feel except she wanted skin against skin. She tugged at his sweater, pulled until his top was bunched as much as hers beneath his arms and ran seeking hands across his back, sides, ridged stomach. Tifa felt her knees start to give as he began to suckle her nipples, and she whimpered as she began to sink. With a husky, sexy laugh, he caught her, yanking her skirt up in the process.

“Off,” he ordered, pushing at her panties but his hand was beneath elastic and he was stroking her and did he think she could do anything but whimper? Cloud was rubbing, teasing, then dipping inside of her and she panted into his shoulder.

“Cloud,” she moaned, sighed, felt her head loll.

“Tifa, off,” he reminded her, his voice like gravel but she was lost and searching with clumsy hands. She somehow found what she was seeking, unzipped his pants and freed him heavy and full into her palms.

He groaned, hips pumping involuntarily and pressed two fingers inside of her. It was dizzying, the sensations, and Tifa undulated her hips, grateful Cloud was anchoring her.

In her hands he was velvet and steel. The head of his erection was damp, ready, and she heard his breath hiss as she spread the fluid she found, stroked.

“Fuck,” he swore again.

“You haven’t yet.” She gasped the words, riding his hand and teetering closer to the edge of release.

His mouth sought hers again, nipping, sipping, stealing air she didn’t need because his flavor was far more important. “I will,” he told her, hips pumping into her hands once more before drawing away from her completely. “But not yet.”

He stepped back, forcing her hold on him to release and somehow still managed to keep her upright. He sank to his knees then, pulling her panties down and lifting her foot one at a time to discard the fabric. Eyes half closed, Tifa tangled gold into her fingers again and let Cloud rearrange her as he pleased. Then gasped when she felt breath against her thighs.

“C-Cloud?” she stuttered. His response was to blow hot air against her most intimate part and spread the petals with his fingers—then use the point of his tongue to start suddenly, teasingly flick against her clit.

“Oh gods, Cloud,” Tifa cried loudly and unfettered as fire shot through her limbs.

Outside their tiny space, the sound was lost in the crash of chugging metal. Back and forth, back and forth his tongue worked and the world went dim and dark and it was only Cloud and his magic and, Shiva, she could feel an orgasm fast approaching.

Everything was fire and burn and burn and fire and Tifa tossed her head, searching, seeking, aching. When he angled his head to better taste her, leaned forward to nip at her button then suck viciously, she shattered into a million pieces, crying his name.

He rumbled his approval against her core, pleased, and lapped gently until she drifted slowly, lazily back to earth. He rose, hitching her knee to his waist and pressing forward with his erection. The metal of the door was cool against her bare backside.

“Fuck,” he whispered into her ear, gently probing the entrance of her.

“Yes, now,” she agreed, wrapping her arms around his neck and undulating her hips. Her orgasm had been sharp but lonely, leaving her strangely unfulfilled and she wanted—needed him with her, inside of her.

But he only slipped his cock up and down her slit, pumping his hips slowly, languidly.

“Cloud…” Tifa rained hot, desperate kisses to the corded muscles of his neck and pressed her breasts to his naked chest, shivering at the contact of flesh on flesh. His skin was hot and heated and felt divine against her. “Now who’s teasing?” she asked, gasped when he glided himself into her slightly—before withdrawing.

He repeated the motion, again and again and again, entering one hard, pulsing inch before pulling out completely. Shaking for the feel of him completing her, drenching his member with her readiness, could he not feel how much she needed him? Did he not feel the same? When he teased again, slipped just the head of himself inside, she bit his shoulder hard in reproach.

"Cloud?" she choked, fisting his hair. "More. Please more."

He drew back far enough to smile at her, cobalt amused.

"Patience," he told her, brushed his mouth to hers. "It'll be better in a moment."

She deigned to disagree. "No, Cloud, now," she insisted. "It'll be better now." She rotated her hips, seeking.

He rumbled a laugh, caught her bottom lip in his teeth and nibbled playfully. "Tifa." She blinked at him."Patience.”

She didn’t understand why she had to be patient simply because he so ordered, and asked as much as against his mouth, nipping at his tongue. She felt his shoulders lift in a shrug and tongued the corner of his mouth teasingly.

“Cloud,” she pleaded. “Please. Now, please. I can’t wait—”

To prove that she was serious, she timed his next motion, pushing down as he thrust upward to feel another throbbing inch inside of her and whimpered at the contact.

“No,” he denied her, shaking his head, but she could feel his muscles shaking, sweat beading his temple and upper lip. He wanted as much as her. Why was he denying himself?

Tifa suckled his earlobe, confessed desperately, "Cloud. It's my first time. I don't understand. Please...I need more. Help me."

Cloud seemed to shudder at her words, retreat his hips. "Fuck, Tifa, I'm sorry," he hissed, then pressed forward again rapidly.

"Ugh, yes , Cloud, more," she heralded, gyrating her hips. Another probe, deeper than than the others and she nodded to punctuate her need. "More. Almost, Cloud. Yes, almost."

"First time," he murmured, pressing soft, tender kisses along her shoulder and collar. "There should be flowers and candles and a bed."

Tifa shook her head. "Flowers are not my thing. A bed is overrated and candles equal fire which I hate. The only thing that matters about my first time, is that it's you."

That seemed to give him pause, then she found her lips taken roughly, pleased and passionate. "You're right," he told her, sipping at her mouth. "It doesn't matter where. Only who."

"So hurry," she bid him, rotating her hips again. He laughed at her unrepentant hustling and surged forward. Completing her.

There was the half second of pain, shocking and unwelcome but overwhelmed by the fullness of having Cloud inside of her, completely inside of her, just as she'd wanted. He felt—divine, absolute, perfect where he was and Tifa thought she might be...whole.

It was the strangest most thorough feeling she'd ever had.

Then he began to move, bucking his hips, and the feeling would dissipate—then return, surprising and freeing her.

It was pleasure untethered and total, swarming through her limbs and muscles and nerves and she moaned with each of his powerful thrusts. He groaned and growled and praised her for her unchecked enthusiasm and he took her higher and higher until she peaked—and tumbled off the ledge where he cradled her in his arms until she purred lovingly by his side in contentment, never as fulfilled as she was with him murmuring her beauty and her entirety to him and his heart and himself.

He loved her, had always loved her, would always love her and now he knew she had and did and would forever return his affection and devotion. And nothing in the universe, in any and all universes could ever compare or take its place.

“Love you,” she whispered against his mouth, in case he hadn’t heard her shout it to the world. And he shuddered his release inside of her, brought to the edge with her fervent, proud, declarative words.

“Love you, Tifa” he murmured staring deep into her eyes when they were dressed and standing apart, afraid she wouldn’t believe him because he was not sheathed deep, heavy, pulsing within her.

But she did believe him, of course, because he was Cloud, her Cloud, and her days and nights began and ended with him and his love and her belief that together they were stronger and better and more beautiful than any whimsical Promised Land.

Tifa stumbled out of the tiny bathroom as the train came to a stop, Cloud nuzzling her ear playfully from behind, and happened to catch Jessie’s embarrassed gaze and flushed cheeks.

But Tifa only smiled into the red-head’s eyes, grinning triumphantly. Cloud was hers, as she’d known he was, and he’d most likely roared it loud enough that all the Slums had heard. She didn’t care one whit, was proud of the fact actually, because it proved to all and sundry that he was hers and no one, nothing was going to take that from her.

“See ya,” Jessie muttered, flustered as she shuffled behind a grinning couple and exited the train.

Tifa shrugged, turned to press a loving kiss to Cloud’s waiting lips, and followed unhurriedly.


End file.
